Archive of Our Own ^beta

You can kiss a hundred boys in bars
Shoot another shot, try to stop the feeling
You can say it's just the way you are
Make a new excuse, another stupid reason
Good luck, babe (Well, good luck)
Well, good luck, babe (Well, good luck)
You'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling

- Good Luck, Babe!

The first time it happened was an accident.

Neither of them expected it, but one minute they were taking whiskey shots at a bar with the team, and the next they were fucking in a bathroom stall.

Patterson had one hand pressed against Zapata’s mouth, reminding her to be quiet, and the other shoved down the front of her pants. The music from the bar made the walls thump and buzz with its bass. There was a constant stream of chatter and glasses clinking, which was punctured occasionally by girls cheering as they took another shot or men groaning as the football game took a turn for the worse. The noise increased as the bathroom door was pushed open, and a familiar voice called out.

“My eyes are closed, and I’m not coming in, but you two have been gone for a while. Y’all okay?” Reade asked, practically shouting over the background noise. Despite the intrusion, Patterson’s fingers kept working relentlessly.

“Yeah, we’ll be out in a minute.” She called back, “Got distracted.” Tasha’s eyes rolled back in her head; she was close, and Patterson knew it.

“Okay?” Reade said after a pause, clearly confused. The door swung shut, once again dampening the noise. Right as it closed, Zapata came with a gasp, sliding down the warm tiles, held up only by Patterson’s hand. Both of them were panting hard, and Patterson was absolutely amazed by the sight of Zapata coming undone because of her. She extracted her hand carefully, trying not to get anything incriminating on Zapata’s jeans or shirt. Her panties were a lost cause, though. Patterson smirked as she licked her fingers clean and unlocked the stall, leaving Zapata to pull herself together while she washed her hands.

A disheveled Zapata made her way out of the stall and immediately went to work brushing her hair with her fingers and reapplying her lipstick. Patterson examined her appearance in the mirror, only to find that her shirt was untucked and her face was a bit red.

“You’re amazing,” Zapata said, finally breaking the silence. “But this was a one-time thing, okay? I’m not into girls.”

Patterson resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Sure seemed into girls a minute ago. “Whatever you say, Tash.” She sighed and tried to keep her disappointment to a minimum. She’d had a small crush on Zapata for about as long as she could remember and thought that tonight would be the start of something, but it didn’t really matter, she supposed.

“That’s not gonna be a problem, is it?” Zapata was looking at Patterson through the mirror, her eyebrow quirked.

“Of course, not.”

She’d get over it if it was.

Patterson left Zapata in the bathroom and got back to the table where Weller and Reade were waiting. Weller handed Patterson a beer that was dripping with condensation as she sat down. She took a swig and told the boys that there had been a freshly broken-up-with girl in the bathroom in need of some serious consoling, the lie flowing easily off of her tongue. Zapata joined the group a few minutes later, complying with Patterson’s story without a moment of hesitation.

Patterson left not long after that. When she got back to her apartment and into her shower, all she could think about was Zapata pinned up against the wall, Zapata moaning so loudly that Patterson had to clamp a hand over her mouth, Zapata desperately riding Patterson’s fingers like her life depended on it. Patterson let out a moan as a bolt of arousal shot through her body at the thoughts.

Her hand, the very same that had fucked Zapata senseless, found its way between her legs and began sliding in and out of her. She leaned back against the slick tiles, not in a dissimilar position to the one Zapata had been in, her fingers racing and scissoring. She came quickly but kept going, the images still flashing through her mind, leaving her downright insatiable. By the time she was done, the water had gone cold and her wrist was aching. She collapsed into her bed and fell asleep with only one thought in her mind.

She was lucky to have experienced sex with Natasha Zapata, but it would never happen again. It had been a freak accident. A happy one, but an accident nonetheless.

*  *  *

It happened again. And again. And again. And again.

You get the picture.

Eventually, Zapata stopped insisting that it would never happen again and instead reminded Patterson that it was casual. This didn’t mean she was into girls, and it didn’t mean that she wanted to date. They were fuck buddies, plain and simple.

Fuck buddies who ate lunch together every day, went out at night together, met each other’s families, and spent more and more nights together.

Patterson wasn’t stupid. She was getting played and she was being used, but by God, did it feel good. If she ignored the constant reminder that “it doesn't mean anything,” then she could pretend. In her mind, they were a happy couple.

In reality, Tasha dropped her hand when they were in public, terrified of being seen holding hands with a girl. In reality, every time Tasha seemed happy and ready to commit to a relationship, she pulled away. Patterson would, without a doubt and without exception, find her in a bar making out with a boy when she freaked out. It stung.

The girl she was, unfortunately, devastatingly, madly in love with did not want her. But then she did. In an instant, she didn’t want her. There were fights, explosive and hurtful, and almost enough to make Patterson consider calling it quits on their whole situation so that she could have a chance at actual, solid happiness and not the slippery, fickle thing she had when she was with Tasha. Almost, but not quite.

*  *  *

The peaceful moments always outweighed the bad in Patterson’s mind. There was that one summer afternoon that always stood out and reminded her of what they were so close to having, if Tasha would just get over herself.

The windows of her apartment were open, letting the warm, summer air stream into the living room. She was illuminated in golden light as she strummed on her guitar and hummed along. Tasha was tucked into an armchair, watching Patterson with a look that she could only describe as love. Ambient noise floated up from the streets below, adding to the atmosphere. Her neighbor’s windchimes clinked together lightly and melodically. Soon enough, Patterson stopped humming but continued playing, with no real rhyme or reason to her notes. It was pretty, though.

The whole time she played, Tasha just stared at her. She stared back, her eyes occasionally flitting back to the fretboard. The music came in waves, with more coherent sections leading into small, staccato sections punctured by windchimes, car horns, and bird calls. Patterson played and played, only stopping when she realized that Tasha had fallen asleep, lulled by the serenity of the scene. Patterson laid her guitar on her couch and moved toward the armchair. She kissed the crown of Tasha’s head before moving into the kitchen to start dinner.

This is what our life would be like.

*  *  *

Patterson was starting to get sick of “casual.” She was sick of going to a bar with Jane, David, or one of her other friends and seeing Tasha stick her tongue down some bland, unattractive man’s throat. She hated that Tasha chose bars that Patterson frequented specifically to rub in how little she cared. Sometimes, Tasha would open her eyes mid-makeout and find Patterson staring at her. She’d stare back with the intensity of a thousand suns. It was like she was saying, “See? I don’t need you. I can do this whenever I want.”

One night, after a particularly bad fight, Patterson wound up at Jane’s apartment with a bottle of lemonade vodka in tow. After a couple of shots and pleasantries, Jane started the conversation.

“Not that I don’t love the company, P, but what’s going on?”

“Me and my...” She trailed off and sighed. “I don’t know. Situation? I got in a fight with someone I care about a lot.”

“Situation?” Jane questioned.

“We’re not dating, but I’d really fucking like to be,” Patterson explained.

Jane raised her eyebrows and asked, “You and Borden?”

“God, no. Me and Tasha.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late. Jane’s eyebrows were sky-high. “You cannot tell anyone, Jane, I am so serious. I promise I’ll tell you everything, but only if you promise not to tell anyone, not even Weller.” Her eyes were wide as she did frantic damage control.

Jane crossed her heart, “I promise. Now spill. You and Zapata?”

Patterson groaned and folded herself in half, her head ending up on Jane’s thigh. “It’s so complicated! We fucked a couple years ago, and she said it was a one-time thing, but then it wasn’t. It isn’t. It’s been on and off for the past few years, but she keeps telling me it’s casual, it doesn't mean anything, and she doesn’t even like girls. I’m so sick of it, Jane.” Her voice broke. “Whenever she starts to get too comfortable with me, she goes and fucks some random guy just to reemphasize how casual our situation is.”

She spat the word “casual” out like it was poison. It was, to her. It was slowly killing her, and she was letting it. She’d always let it, if it meant that Tasha would love her one day. Jane patted her back slowly, clearly unsure what to do in this circumstance.

“So, even though you guys have been basically together for years, she still says she’s straight?”

“YES!” Patterson popped up from Jane’s lap, her vodka starting to sink in. “And it hurts so bad. It feels like she’s making a fool of me and my sexuality.”

“And she just sleeps with guys whenever she’s too happy with you?”

“And when she’s mad at me. And when she’s upset. When she knows I’m upset with her.”

“That’s…” Jane hesitated, not wanting to speak ill of her friend. “That’s kinda shitty, P.”

“It’s SO shitty!” Patterson cried. “And I just keep letting her do it!” She let out a sob and Jane pulled her into a hug. They stayed like that for a long time, with Patterson unable to stop crying.

After what felt like forever, the tears subsided, leaving only the tear stains and the hiccups behind. Jane didn’t release her, though, and she didn’t try to break free.

“I love her, Jane,” she whispered into the silence. “It’s ruining my life.”

*  *  *

The bathroom of the bar they were in was dark and dingy. The walls were peeling off-white, complimented by the small square grey tiles that probably hadn’t been that dark when they were installed. One of the overhead lights was flickering, it hadn’t been screwed in all the way. The counters were a dull laminate that had seen significantly better days. Against her better judgment, Patterson was sitting on the floor with her knees tucked into her chest and her head buried in her hands. Her hair fell in curtains around her face, effectively shielding her field of vision.

She was sobbing, because that seemed to be all that she did these days. Spirits and sadness never mixed well together; she knew that. She was alone in the bathroom, a damn miracle considering the crowdedness of the bar. Tasha had left not long after they’d gotten there, saying that Patterson was being too clingy. Maybe she was, after all, she’d begged Tasha to stay, to not leave her alone in a full bar with people she’d never met. Tasha had shaken her hand off of her arm and told her the team would be there soon. She needed to get over it and grow up, she’d said. Patterson had watched Tasha walk out without a second thought and gritted her teeth, trying to find the strength to keep herself together.

“Don’t cry about it, either, P. It’s not that big of a deal,” Tasha had said before she left, a condescending look on her face. Patterson took a deep breath, She wanted to scream so loudly that the whole world would hear her.

Am I not allowed to cry? She wanted to yell. She put on a brave face for the team, but just wasn’t able to hold on long enough and ended up crying on the bathroom floor. Embarrassing.

There was a sudden influx of noise as a group of girls entered the bathroom, all drunk and giggling. Patterson didn’t bother looking up from her hands; she just pressed her lips together and tried to make as little noise as possible to go unnoticed by the girls. It didn’t work.

All of a sudden, she was surrounded by sympathetic girls with pleading voices. She looked up to find four girls all kneeling around her. The only brunette in the group was in a white dress with a sash that read “BRIDE TO BE!” The other three were blondes, all in hot pink dresses that hurt Patterson’s eyes. One of the girls sat next to Patterson on the disgusting floor and pulled her over so her head was resting on the girl’s shoulder and began combing her fingers through Patterson’s hair. She was sure that her face was bright red, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

One girl, Rachel, was dispatched to get a glass of water, and because Rachel had a tendency to get distracted, Hannah was sent with her to keep her on task. That left Stephanie, the one who was comforting Patterson, and Brittany, the bride-to-be. They let Patterson stutter her way through an explanation of her complicated relationship and how pathetic she felt.

“Oh, honey, fuck her,” Stephanie said indignantly, her fingers still combing through Patterson’s hair. The repetition was calming her down, she had to admit.

“Literally.” Brittany agreed. “You seem amazing, and if she can’t see that, then that’s on her.”

Patterson sniffed. “I love her, though.”

Stephanie sighed. “Sweetheart, loving someone shouldn’t involve you sobbing on the bathroom floor.” Patterson didn’t have a response for that. “Did your other friends show up? Do you want us to get one of them?”

“Yeah.” Patterson’s voice was becoming teary again as she thought of her friends who didn’t walk away. “Um, they’re at a table on the back wall. There’s a girl with really short black hair who’s wearing a plain white t-shirt. She’s got, like, a million tattoos. Her name’s Jane.”

Brittany squeezed Patterson’s hand and stood up. “I’ll be right back. I’m also gonna try and find Rachel and Hannah.” The door swung open, and the noise increased for just a moment before it closed again, leaving Stephanie and Patterson in not-quite silence. The conversation with Tasha worked its way to the forefront of her mind again, and her shoulders began to shake and her face contorted in an attempt to keep her composure. She failed and started to sob again. Stephanie just kept petting her hair and lightly shushing her, telling her that it would all be okay one day.

The door opened to reveal Jane, who was followed by the other girls. Hannah handed Patterson a glass of water, which she took gratefully. Jane kneeled down next to her as the other three girls retreated to the sinks, where they could watch but stay out of the way.

“What’d she do, P?” Jane asked quietly, a pitying look already on her face. Patterson screwed her face for a second before answering.

“She just- she just left me here, and she told me to grow up and stop being clingy and to not cry about it because-” She took a labored breath, “because it’s not a big deal,” the last words came out with a sob. Jane sighed and pulled Patterson off Stephanie’s shoulder and into a hug.

“This isn’t love, Patterson. It’s pain. It’s disrespect. You already know what I think you should do.” She did. On more than one occasion, Jane told Patterson to, at the very least, consider breaking things off with Tasha. Patterson stayed silent while Stephanie opted to give Jane a more detailed description of what had happened. Jane looked plain disappointed. “That’s just mean, P.”

She knew. Tasha could shove Patterson off of a bridge, and she’d still trudge out of the river and back to Tasha’s doorstep and ask if everything was all right.

*  *  *

Their last fight was brutal in every sense of the word. Jane and Weller had moved to Colorado, and Tasha had decided to join the C.I.A. without so much as consulting Patterson. They’d been “not together” for almost five years, and Tasha thought it was okay to make a life-changing decision just like that. It made Patterson’s blood boil, and it finally boiled over.

“Do you even care about me?” She tried to keep her voice level, to keep the rage out of it.

“What?” Tasha scoffed. “Of course, I care about you!”

Patterson’s eyebrows shot up, “Really? Cause it sure doesn’t seem like it.”

“Oh, my God,” Tasha muttered, rolling her eyes. “Patterson-”

“No! Don’t ‘Patterson’ me! You just made one of the biggest decisions of your life and you didn’t even MENTION it to me!”

“It’s not really any of your business-”

“Isn’t it?!” Patterson shrieked. “It sure fucking feels like my business, Tash!”

Tasha groaned, “Oh, my God, Patterson, not everything is about you! I have told you time and again that it’s not-”

Patterson cut her off, filling in the rest of her words in a mocking manner, “Not serious, yeah, I fucking know that. I know that it’s not serious because no matter how many times I have begged—BEGGED—you to commit to me, you brush me off. I don’t think you actually care about me, Tash. I think you just like using me whenever you need me with no fucking regard for how I’m feeling.”

“You are being fucking ridiculous.” Tasha shook her head and made for the door.

“Don’t you fucking walk out on me, Natasha!” Patterson said with a warning tone.

Tasha whirled around, “Or what?”

“Or you will never see me again. You leave and we’re done, you understand me?” Her face was red-hot with anger and tears were streaming down her cheeks.

“Yeah, right.” Tasha gripped the door handle. “You love me too much to leave me.”

She was calling her bluff. She’d done it before and been right, but Patterson was beyond enraged at this point. Five years of nothing but bullshit. Five years of her life wasted. She’d never get those years back.

Patterson let out a growl. “You know what, Tasha, yeah. I do love you, more than anyone else ever will. When you grow up and marry some man,” she said the word with nothing but utter contempt and disgust, “who’ll love you half as much as I do, you’re gonna think about me and how you wish you could change the past.”

“I’m never going to think that because I don’t fucking love you, Patterson! For someone so smart, you really can’t seem to get that through your thick head.”

Patterson gritted her teeth, seething. “Get out.” When Tasha didn’t move, Patterson screamed, “GET OUT! LEAVE! IF YOU DON’T LOVE ME, LEAVE LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO!”

The door slammed, rattling the walls, leaving Patterson alone in the quiet apartment. A dog across the street barked. Car horns honked. Her neighbor’s windchimes clinked in a sorrowful song. Thunder pealed over the city. Patterson sank to her knees and sobbed. Her phone dinged with a text message.

See you tomorrow when you come groveling back.

Her resignation was in Reade’s inbox within the hour.

*  *  *

She’d gone back to California right after the NYO had gotten everything they needed from her in relation to her Venezuelan abduction. As much as she wanted to dive into Jane’s new tattoos, she valued her peace a little more. If they needed her, they knew where to find her.

A year or two after that kidnapping, she opened Facebook to a shocking post from Reade’s account.

Married to Natasha Zapata.

She couldn’t say she was surprised.

Patterson moved on with her life. She rejoined the FBI at its San Francisco office, where she took over for the retiring head of forensics. She met Livia, a beautiful woman whose parents immigrated from Italy. Together, they adopted a grey tabby cat named Dish Soap. They went to concerts, bars, beaches, and national parks.

Livia proposed to Patterson after three years of dating. They got married and bought a house. Livia even joined the HOA, despite Patterson’s warnings about how it was a scam.

The day after Patterson posted the announcement of the birth of her daughter on Facebook, she received a text at 11 p.m. from an unknown New York number.

I miss you. I love you. Being married isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. You were right.

Who is this?

She typed out, tired and confused. She was in her daughter’s room, rocking her back and forth to try and lull her to sleep, but some stranger with the wrong number was confessing their love to her.

Are you serious?

It’s Tasha.

Oh. Patterson hadn’t thought about Tasha in years.

You told me that I’d realize that no one could love me like you do, and you were right.

Zapata, I’m married. You didn’t want me when I was willing to give everything to you. You don’t get to come crawling back now that I’m happy.

With Edgar, it’s like I only exist to be his wife. He just wants kids and a house and a wife, you know? You never wanted anything like that from me. You let me live how I wanted to and were fine with it.

Patterson sighed quietly. Her baby was finally asleep in her arms, and she'd rather not wake her up just because her ex was causing trouble.

I was never fine with it. You seem to be conveniently forgetting the years of me begging you to stop messing around and date me. If Reade’s treating you even a fraction of how badly you treated me, then I’m sorry, because no one should have to go through that.

I was nothing but nice to you.

You were awful. Ask Jane.

You told Jane about us?!

Her baby whimpered, having an unpleasent dream about something. Patterson stroked her cheek to calm her down. She should put her down, but she couldn’t bring herself to. They rocked in silence, Patterson unable to take her eyes off of her daughter. She was so small and perfect; Patterson didn’t think she could love something so much. When she finally reached the point of exhaustion herself, she gently lowered the baby into her crib and crept out of the room.

Before she collapsed into sleep, she sent one last text to Tasha and promptly blocked her number.

I’m sorry your life isn’t turning out the way you wanted it to. Good luck fixing it.